


Undead Uncles and Foolish Brothers

by jinkandtherebels



Series: Undead Uncles [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, ghost!Itachi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:06:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's her uncle's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undead Uncles and Foolish Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Posted one minute late because that's how I roll. Happy Birthday, Itachi!
> 
> Also, I haven't actually read the new Naruto series, so my interpretation of Sarada's character via Chapter 700 might've been Jossed by now. Oh well.

On the ninth of the month, Sarada skips school.

It’s not something she makes a habit of doing—her grades are perfect, something she takes pride in—but it’s a special occasion, so she sends Bolt on his way with a note for their sensei explaining that she’s sick. He looks at her like he’s suspicious of her faked cough and flushed face (courtesy of running around the house for five minutes beforehand, just to give it that air of legitimacy), but he does what she says.

Bolt usually does end up doing what she says. It’s another thing she takes pride in, probably more than she should.

Sarada now has the house to herself. Her mother is at work, her father is off god-knows-where doing god-knows-what, as usual, so there’s no one to ask why she’s making dango from scratch at seven-thirty in the morning.

Well, almost no one.

“Your technique has gotten better,” Itachi says approvingly. Sarada doesn’t need to turn around to know he’s looking over her shoulder.

“If my technique was wrong in the first place, whose fault’s that?” she retorts, carefully rolling the dough into balls. “You’re the one who taught me how to do it, Itachi-oji.”

“I have been dead for several years,” is the dignified response. “And I hadn’t had opportunity to make dango for many years before that. Don’t you think I could be excused a less-than-perfect memorization of the recipe?”

“Not really.”

Itachi huffs a laugh. “Spoken like a true Uchiha.”

.

She knows the way to the memorial stones. Everyone does. Sarada knows every step on the way, every scent from the food stands and every shout from the shopkeepers that line the roads.

Her father has probably spent more time with her by the memorial stones than he has anywhere else. Which is probably pretty messed up, when she thinks about it.

The plate of dango is clutched tightly in her hands as she reaches the quiet of this place, set aside for solemn remembrance. Sarada knows she shouldn’t feel comfortable here—she doesn’t actually have anyone to remember, and god willing she won’t for a long time to come—but for some reason she does. She always has.

She makes her way to the section of land set aside for those bearing the last name Uchiha, and stops.

There’s a familiar figure already kneeling where Sarada wants to go. Dark hair, dark clothes, head bent in front of a well-polished stone. As she watches, he reaches out and carefully brushes his fingers over the name carved into the stone: _Uchiha Itachi_.

Sarada unfreezes her tongue. “Father?”

Uchiha Sasuke stiffens and withdraws his hand like it’s been bitten by a snake.

Maybe Sarada hasn’t spent much time with her father, but he’s still managed to teach her some important lessons. Like how if you show weakness in front of others, you’re begging to get stabbed in the back as soon as you’re stupid enough to turn it.

He’s an upbeat kind of person.

“Sarada,” he says, neutral. Like she hasn’t just caught him in a completely uncharacteristic display of emotion—god _forbid_ his own daughter actually see him acting like a human being.

The desire to roll her eyes is overwhelming.

Sasuke turns and sees the dango in her hands. A crease appears between his eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?”

Sarada straightens. _Don’t show weakness_.

“It’s Itachi-oji’s birthday,” she says. She’d looked it up in the library a few months back; Konoha archives go back to its very conception, and even a onetime traitor’s records didn’t just vanish into thin air.

Sasuke is staring at her. It takes all Sarada’s concentration not to fidget under his gaze.

“Is that dango?” he asks at last.

She nods.

And then a bizarre thing happens: Her father cracks a smile. “Come here.”

Sarada comes forward and kneels beside him in front of Itachi’s memorial stone. There’s nothing under it, she knows; there’d been nothing left to bury after the last Great Ninja War.

Still, she knows her uncle will appreciate the gesture, so she sets her offering down next to her father’s. Speaking of which…

“What is that?” she blurts, squinting at the plate next to hers. Maybe her glasses need adjusting.

Sasuke coughs. “It’s dango,” he mutters.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it—” Sasuke draws himself up. “I’m not going to argue about this with you.”

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was embarrassed.

There’s a minute of highly tense silence.

“You tried,” Sarada offers at last. She’s not usually in the habit of cutting her father any slack, because most of the time he hasn’t earned it, but it _is_ her uncle’s birthday.

“He loved dango,” Sasuke says quietly. He glances at Sarada’s offering. “How did you…?”

“Lucky guess,” she interrupts.

Grudgingly, he says, “It looks more edible than mine.”

“By a lot,” she agrees. Then, after a second of hesitation, “I can teach you how to make it look less disgusting, if you want.”

For the first time since Sarada sat down, her father looks at her.

“I’d like that,” he says.

A familiar—if somewhat watery—laugh comes from just over her shoulder. Sarada doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Foolish little brother,” Itachi says fondly.

Sarada ducks her head to hide her grin.

_Happy birthday, Itachi-oji._


End file.
